Beyond the Darkness (25 page)

“Salvatore, if you get yourself killed, I’m never going to forgive you,” she hissed.

With a feral smile he bent down to claim her lips in a kiss she felt to the tips of her toes.

“You’re never getting rid of me,” he whispered against her mouth.

Arching against his hard body, Harley momentarily allowed herself to savor the feel and scent of him. Then with a sigh, she reluctantly stepped back.

“What’s the plan?”

“You release the curs and get them out of here.”

“While you battle Briggs by yourself?”

He shrugged. “It has always been inevitable.”

“No, it’s not…”

“
Si,
it is.” He framed her face in his hands. “I have to do this, Harley. And I need to know that Hess and the others are far enough away that Briggs can’t gain control of them.”

She wanted to argue. It was insanity for Salvatore to confront Briggs alone. The Were was not only Hannibal-Lecter-nuts, but he was already dead. How the hell did you kill a zombie?

But in the end she bit back her words.

This wasn’t just Salvatore’s macho need to prove his superiority over the other male.

Briggs hadn’t just been an enemy to Salvatore. He had violated the entire Were nation with his bargain with the demon lord. And he’d come far too close to destroying them all.

As king, it was Salvatore’s duty to make sure the traitor suffered the ultimate punishment.

“Fine.”

He brushed one last kiss over her lips. “Take the curs back to the church. I’ll join you there once I’m certain Briggs is dead.”

Salvatore barely waited for Harley to disappear into the shadows before efficiently stripping off his expensive suit. He had every confidence in her ability to free the curs and lead them to safety.

Even if she did want to give him a black eye.

It wasn’t the first, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time he annoyed her.

The gods willing.

His smile faded as he shifted into wolf form and silently padded toward the cabin.

He wasn’t going to underestimate Briggs. The Were was a flaming nutcase, but he had to know he was no match for Salvatore without his demon lord to hide behind. Which meant he must be confident that whatever trap he had set was capable of destroying Salvatore.

Circling the cabin, Salvatore allowed his superior animal senses to search the area for any hint of danger.

Predictably, the presence of werewolves had frightened off the local wildlife, and the nearest human was miles away, but there were a few lesser demons in the vicinity. A pack of hellhounds sniffing through the underbrush. A tree sprite dancing through the branches. A distant hag.

Nothing that could offer a threat.

Which meant that Briggs’s trap must be magical.

Naturalmente.
The worthless hound wouldn’t recognize a code of honor if it bit him on the ass.

Accepting there was nothing physical to battle, Salvatore shifted back to human, moving through the overgrown backyard to peer through a window.

He could see a small kitchen with a worn linoleum floor and cabinets that had once been painted a hideous yellow. The appliances had been removed or stolen, leaving behind broken pipes and exposed wires.

Salvatore grimaced. Even without Briggs, the place was a deathtrap. He could only hope that the electricity had been turned off.

As if on cue, a bloom of candlelight filled the front room beyond the kitchen, revealing a battered sofa and matching chair that was the only furniture. Although it would be generous to label the rotting pieces of junk as furniture. More a post-apocalyptic nightmare.

His eyes narrowed as the shadowed outline of a cloaked figure was suddenly visible. Briggs. How convenient. Just the sleazeball he’d been looking for.

Climbing the back steps, Salvatore kicked in the door and rapidly crossed through the empty kitchen. If there was a trap, then so be it. Tiptoeing through the place wasn’t going to help.

He made it into the front room, headed straight for Briggs, when the expected snare was at last tripped.

A cold breeze prickled over his naked body, then invisible bonds wrapped around him, slamming him into the wall with enough force to shake chunks of plaster from the ceiling.

Salvatore grunted in pain, but he didn’t panic.

Briggs might be able to conjure a portion of his black magic, but his strength had to be failing with the death of the demon lord, while Salvatore’s power had never been greater.

Proving his point, Briggs pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing his face that was barely more than a skull, with drooping bits of gray flesh and a set of crimson eyes that glittered with a rabid hatred.
Cristo.
Salvatore had stumbled across genuine zombies who looked better than this Were.

And the stench…Salvatore shuddered in disgust.

“You just never learn, do you, Salvatore?” Briggs taunted, strolling to stand directly before Salvatore.

“It’s not a matter of learning.” Ignoring the pain, Salvatore managed a smile. “I simply don’t fear you.”

Fury flashed over the Were’s emaciated face before he managed to regain his smug composure.

“I knew that arrogance would be your downfall.”

Salvatore shrugged. “It might be eventually, but not tonight.”

Briggs halted directly in front of him. “We’ll see about that.”

“What are you going to do, Briggs? Your master is gone, and without his powers you don’t have a chance in hell of beating me.”

The Were laughed, waving a hand toward Salvatore’s body pinned to the wall.

“Obviously I’m not without resources.”

“You can’t hold me here indefinitely. So, unless you have another demon lord tucked in the cellar, you’re screwed.” His eyes narrowed. “I do have one question.”

“You want to know why,” Briggs mocked.

“No, I know why. You’re an amoral, spineless son of a bitch who would willingly destroy your own people rather than accept the fact that you weren’t worthy of being their leader.”

An icy burst of pain exploded through him, reminding Salvatore that while Briggs might look like a corpse, he wasn’t in his grave.

Not yet.

“I’m more worthy than you’ll ever be,” the pureblood hissed.

Salvatore’s humorless laugh echoed through the empty shell of a cabin.

“Not even in your sick and twisted brain can you still believe your own lies.”

“Without you…”

“Without me the Weres would have become extinct. I’m not only their chosen king, but their savior,” Salvatore deliberately prodded. “My name will become legend among the purebloods.”

Briggs’s composure cracked, his eyes flashing with an insane fury. Reaching up, he smacked Salvatore across the face with enough force to split his lip.

“Bloody bastard.”

Salvatore calmly turned to spit the blood from his mouth. “What I want to know is, was it worth it?”

“Worth what?”

“Was it worth sacrificing your pack, your loyalty, your sense of honor for a futile attempt to sit on a throne never intended for you?”

There was another blast of icy pain, and Briggs’s face twisted with insane hatred.

“It will be worth every sacrifice once you’re dead.”

Salvatore’s muscles clenched at the arctic assault, but through the pain he sensed Briggs’s magic beginning to falter. The bonds holding him against the wall were deteriorating, and the chill biting into his flesh lessening.

Thankfully, the bastard was too distracted by his own anger to realize the danger.

“It’s a shame really,” Salvatore drawled, quite happy to stir the bastard’s temper. “The Weres’ ancient powers are on the cusp of returning, and you won’t be around to appreciate our glory.”

The stark truth of his words was the last nudge needed to send the maniac over the edge.

“Enough,” Briggs roared, throwing off his cloak to reveal his skeleton body. “Hell’s waiting for you, Giuliani. Give my regards to Mackenzie.”

Salvatore braced himself as Briggs shifted, the sound of his low growls and popping bones unnaturally loud in the isolated cabin. The candlelight flickered as his face elongated, his fangs lengthening to deadly daggers and his eyes flashing with crimson fire.

Crazy or not, he was still a lethal predator.

Which he was swift to prove as he launched his attack, using Salvatore’s immobility to strike straight at his throat.

Dio.

Straining against the invisible bonds, Salvatore barely managed to avoid the death blow, instead taking the violent impact on his shoulder. He felt his collarbone snap and the fangs rip deep into his flesh, but he survived.

This time.

Hot blood gushed from his wounds and the clinging magic made every movement a lesson in torture, but gritting his teeth, he managed to force himself from the wall and confront the Were as he once again pounced.

Plowing directly into Salvatore’s chest, Briggs’s attack sent them both rolling across the uneven wooden floor, his fangs once again biting deep into Salvatore’s shoulder. Agonizing pain jolted through him, but Salvatore barely noticed. He was intent on forcing his awkward body to obey his commands.

With a merciless growl, Briggs scrambled to regain his balance, his fangs dripping blood, and his eyes smoldering with a deadly promise.

Sucking in a deep breath, Salvatore prepared to shift. It was much easier to call on the power of his pack in werewolf form. Not to mention the fact that he was more than ready to rip out Briggs’s throat.

Reaching for his beast, he abruptly growled in disbelief, stunned to discover that his powers lurked just out of reach. His wolf snarled, but remained frustratingly leashed by Briggs’s magic, as if trapped behind an invisible barrier.

Just as his connection to his pack was cut off.

His gut twisted with dread as he shoved against the unseen wall, searching for a means to break through.

Dio.

Briggs’s spell had not only affected his muscles, but it had stolen his wolf.

Ignoring the urge to howl in frustration, Salvatore instead forcibly calmed his racing heart and stopped his futile struggles against the black magic. His wolf was currently impotent, but as his mind cleared, he realized there was something else inside him…

An unwavering power that had nothing to do with his position as king. Or even his strength as an alpha werewolf. This force came directly from his heart, and had everything to do with Harley.

The sound of Briggs’s claws scraping against the wooden planks was the only warning as the Were charged forward, his fangs snapping just over Salvatore’s head as he called on Harley’s powers and managed to throw himself to the side.

He rolled toward the sagging sofa, cursing as he heard Briggs’s howl of rage echoing through the cabin. The bastard wasn’t going to be satisfied until he’d ripped out Salvatore’s heart, and Salvatore couldn’t depend on dumb luck to keep him alive.

Time to do something.

A pity he didn’t know what the hell that was.

Harley had been horrified when she’d entered the shed.

Predictably, the four curs were chained to the walls with silver shackles, the stench of burning flesh enough to turn her stomach, but it was the sight of their ragged appearance and the wretched defeat etched on their filthy faces that made her heart twist in fury toward Briggs.

They had quite literally been broken by the evil Were.

Damn the bastard.

She hoped Salvatore ripped out the pureblood’s heart, chopped it into pieces, and fed it to the rats. Then raised him from the dead and did it all over again.

Her grim mood didn’t improve once she had the curs released and was leading them through the tangle of trees in a straight path back to the church.

She’d expected to have a brawl on her hands when she told the curs that they were leaving without Salvatore. Actually, she expected a mutiny, even after telling them that their king had ordered them to go with her.

It was disturbing to have them follow behind her with mute obedience, their heads hanging and their spirit lost.

Once in the empty church, she’d settled them on a rickety pew, her heart twisting as they huddled together, needing the physical contact to ease their fear. A part of her felt a befuddled need to do something to comfort them. She was supposed to be their queen, after all. It seemed like it should be her duty.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue what to do.

She didn’t think a pat on the head and a “there, there” was going to help.

Another part of her, however, was consumed with her relentless awareness of Salvatore.

Since their mating, the sense of him always hummed through her. More like a background noise than an intrusion. Now she found herself restlessly pacing the empty vestibule, the feel of Salvatore so acute it was almost painful.

Unwittingly rubbing the spot just over her heart, Harley walked to stare out a broken stained glass window. Something was wrong.

And it terrified her.

Turning back, she caught sight of the large bald-headed cur regarding her with a melancholy expression.

With a lift of her hand, she gestured for him to join her. “Hess.”

Despite his bulky muscles, the cur moved with a fluid grace as he crossed to kneel at her feet, his head bowed.

“Your Majesty.”

Harley reached out and hastily urged him back to his feet, disturbed by the cur’s groveling. Respect was all fine and dandy, but she was never going to get used to very large predators bowing and scraping.

“Please don’t do that,” she muttered. “My name is Harley.”

He grudgingly nodded his head, not pleased by her refusal to follow tradition. A cur of the old school, obviously.

Bleck.

“If that is your wish.”

She frowned at the sight of violent bruises and raw burns that marred his bare chest.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing that won’t heal.”

His dull, lifeless tone warned Harley that the worst of his wounds weren’t physical.

He needed Salvatore.

Hell, they all needed Salvatore. Herself included.

“Tell me what happened,” she demanded. “How did Briggs get you to the shed?”